The Necro Merchant's Debt
by Sunni D. Lockhart
Summary: Based on Repo! The Genetic Opera. Bakura is a blood thristy Necro merchant. Ryou is a sickly teenager with a rampant blood disease. Can Bakura find a cure before Ryou becomes a victim? The dark, edgy world of GeneCo will keep you guessing.
1. Chapter 1

The Necro Merchant's Debt

WARNING: This is a pretty gory story, with a dark undertone. Also, homosexuality is present.

A/N: For those of you who are familiar with the film 'Repo! The Genetic Opera' You must know that I am a huge fan. This is based roughly on Repo; I've split characters, added characters, and I've pretty much redone the overall plot of the original film.

Those of you who are not familiar with the film, and you enjoy quirky cult classics, surreal atmospheres and can stomach some gore, than I encourage you to check it out. It's a very well done movie, and a very creative concept.

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Chapter 1: It's a Thankless Job

_**-Bakura-**_

Chink...Squelch...Slice...Pop....Gurgle...

The sounds I have become accustomed to. The sounds of agony, of death and of pain. At first, those terrorized screams would ring in my ears for days. Chilling, cacophonous wails reverberating in my mind. Clinging to me like lost children, condemning me for the terrible thing I had done.

The sound of screams mean nothing to me now.

People say that blood has no particular odor to it. I beg to differ. That particular stench is as familiar to me as colon. It smells like molten metal and burning plastic. It tends to mingle with the scent of my laundry detergent.

There are a select few people in the world that are permitted to gaze into the anomaly that is the human body. What man can say that he has looked at his own heart, and lived? Not one.

A surgeon explores the body out of desire to heal. To improve, preserve and understand life. They have taken an oath to do so.

I am not a surgeon.

I explore the body, with no desire to heal. I dismember the sacred tabernacle of human life to destroy it. Why? Because...it's my job.

_**20 years ago....**_

Industrialization had crippled the globe. Pollution had run rampant, contaminating the very air. Organ failure had become a world-wide epidemic. Millions died, leaving hospitals unable to cope with the astounding number of needed transplants.

And yet, out of the ashes of death, rose a phoenix. Founded by corporate genius Pegasus Crawford, came GeneCo, a company that provided lab-made organs for transplants.

The company's success was inevitable, spreading to all corners of the globe. With it's popularity, it soon expanded it's market to offering surgery as a fashion statement! Plastic surgeries were performed on a daily basis, with the GeneCo slogan cheerfully plastered, 'It's what's on the _inside_ that counts!'

The megalopolis company even managed to increase the rate of surgeries, by developing a special drug called 'Zydrate'. The bodily-based substance was meant to eliminate the pains of post-surgery, thus allowing a decrease in the gaps between various transplants.

With the even further increase in the demand for body parts, Pegasus soon realized that an alternative source for organs was required if the company was to stay afloat. In response, Pegasus opened a new company policy: 'If the patient is unable to pay for the initial surgery, organ financing is readily available. In the event that the patient misses a payment on the previously mentioned 'financed organ', GeneCo reserves the right to 're-posses' said organ .'

Hired to carry out GeneCo's repossessions were 'Repo-men', Specially trained surgeons hired to track down payment-skippers, and reclaim the company's property.

_**-Bakura, Present Day-**_

I suppose all those years ago, no one would have anything bad to say about GeneCo. Why would they? No one could have suspected that it would come to rule the world one day. To think, only 20 years ago, this city must have been a very different place. People didn't turn a blind eye to mangled bodies lying in the alleyways, or shoot themselves up silly with Zydrate to get a bit of a buzz.

I'm no different, I suppose. GeneCo has ended up dominating the bigger portion of life, I'm not too proud to say. Both of my parents had died before I turned 16. Desperate, I took a job with GeneCo on the 'corpse disposal' squad. He he, it's strange to think back on those days, when the sight of the dead bodies still made me squeamish.

Unfortunately for me, luck had never been on my side.

One night, while I was making my rounds, I spotted a dead girl lying propped against a crumbling wall that wasn't on my pickup list. I stopped the truck and got out, intending to go ahead and get rid of it. Before I knew what was happening, I felt my shoulder slam against the wall with an oppressing hand clutching at my neck.

A Repo Man had mistaken me for one of his targets, and had every intention of slicing out my kidneys right there. I had gotten angry, and headbutted him. He stumbled momentarily. I saw that as my chance to wrench away his elongated scalpel. I could have just run away right then, and I would have been fine. But once my primal fighting instincts had been awakened, I couldn't stop myself.

I plunged the knife right through his neck. He rolled over, choking and gasping. It was only then I realized what I had done.

The police arrived not too long afterward, accompanied by Pegasus himself. They had only just begun to drag me away, when the president stopped them. His cold brown eyes swept over me approvingly. He offered me an ultimatum: Go to jail, or Become a Repo Man, to replace the one now dead.

Unwittingly, I chose the latter.

And so I live a life of sin and murder. The rest of the city fears me, praying I'll never come knocking at their door.

But, the part most disturbing to me out of all is...

...There is a part of me the thrives on my Repo life.

…................................................................

A/N: Indeed. Very short, more like a prologue than anything, really. I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter, I'll have more character appearances, I just wanted to establish Bakura as our tormented Repo man. Umm, feedback? Suggestions? Edits? Any and all are welcome.


	2. Things you see in a Graveyard

Chapter 2: Things you see in a Graveyard

_**-Nathan-**_

Seventeen years. It's been seventeen years. Since what you ask? Since she died. My wife, Amani, was my everything. We married young, both of us 18 at the time. So deeply was I in love, it didn't seem real to me.

Unfortunately, luck had never been on my side.

Three months into our marriage, Amani told me she was pregnant. You can't imagine the rapture I felt! I was going to be a father! That is, until Amani got sick. A strange form of blood cancer, it seemed to be. I'm an oncologist, I should know.

I thought I could heal her. I had never failed a patient before, I wasn't about to fail the most important person in my life. She was in the final month of gestation period, when I thought I'd found the cure. Oh, the pride and relief I felt when I handed her the formula, thinking everything was going to be fine.

Within six minutes, she was dead.

To this day, I have no idea how that poisonous substance managed to get into my lab. I had never carried anything of the sort, and yet it ended up in my medicines. The only explanation I could come up with is that I had accidently placed it in one of my viles at the hospital.

I remember it all so clearly…the blood pouring in droves from every orifice of her, the soft, whimpering, desperate murmurs she made as I tried to hold her up.

I knew I had to act quickly if I was to save my infant son. Choking back sobs, I sliced open her bulging stomach.

As I pulled the baby's wriggling, bloody mass from her womb, he was silent. I knew he wasn't dead, for he moved quite animatedly, but he made no noise at all.

After wiping him of Amani's blood, he opened his eyes. Those beautiful, warm chocolate eyes with tiny flecks of green. They stared at me, blinking every so often, appearing to offer me comfort.

Setting him aside, I called the hospital. An ambulance came, and carted Amani's ruined body away. I explained the situation to the police afterwards, and was readily prepared to be arrested. However, my boss, Pegasus Crawford appeared on the scene, and pardoned me for her death.

You see, I worked for GeneCo, then and now. From the beginning of my employment, I knew that Pegasus had a certain attachment to me. At first I assumed it was because of my exceptional performance in my profession.

It wasn't until later I began to suspect an attachment of a different kind.

Doing my best to ignore his subtle advances, I started dating Amani. The deeper I became involved with her, the more he pressed his affections.

Once we were married, it seemed that he finally backed off.

Anyway, once the situation with my wife was settled, I was able to attend to my son. What a beautiful boy he was, he looked almost identical to his mother. His hair (which he had a surprising amount of for a baby) was as white and pale as the moon.

I named him Ryou, which means pale beauty.

It didn't take me long to discover he bore the blood disease as well. I had him scanned as soon as I could.

But, even before I knew he was sick, I knew I was never going to let him go. So small, so sweet, so pretty a thing was he, the world would only seek to harm him.

What a beautiful young man he has come to be. A tad thin, I suppose, but that is mostly because of his medication. And he is so well mannered! I don't think I've had a cross word from him in my life!

Ryou, poor Ryou, I wish I knew if you would live to yet another year…your sure has ever slipped beyond my grasp of knowledge. You'll have to stay the course for now.

Happy Birthday, my Ryou.

_**-801 Cheapside St, 10:00 p.m.-**_

Beep…Beep…Beep…Medication Reminder!

The polytonal machine announced the requirement of another dosage.

The room itself was considerably large. A blank, white canvas was perched on an easel in the far left corner of the room. Pallets of paint, as well as several color-filled canvases, were stacked neatly adjacent to the easel.

A television, kept in the most attentively clean condition, sat atop a desk against the north wall. Six bookcases, laden with thick texts, lined up evenly along the entire expanse of the east wall.

Against the south wall was a king sized, four poster canopy bed. Long plastic curtains draped down from the canopy, concealing the mattress from the surrounding air. The only window was the size of the west wall, opening out to a balcony.

Next to the bed was the now blaring medication monitor, disturbing the sleep of its snowy-haired occupant. The teen's large brown eyes blinked open as he groggily pushed open his plastic curtain to reach the alarm.

"Ryou?" Nathan stepped into the room, "Did you take your meds?"

Ryou sat up against the downy pillows, "Um, I was about to, just a minute…" He reached for the thin needle on his bedside table. The tiny shot pierced the crook of his forearm, pushing the medication into his bloodstream.

His father let out a relaxed sigh, "Alright, I was just waking certain." Ryou smiled weakly, settling back into the pillows. Nathan kissed his son's forehead before closing the curtain and crossing to the door.

"Good night, precious," he whispered before exiting.

The boy slumped after his father had gone and clutched the white comforter is his fists, "Well, happy birthday Ryou. Another year of successful survival," he muttered to himself.

Flinging the covers back, he slipped out of bed. He stripped himself of his loose white t-shirt, and instead opted for a white tank top and a short, black, button-up vest. Stuffing his long, coltish legs into a pair of dark jeans and sneakers, the teen quietly snuck into the hallway. As anticipated, his father had gone to sleep.

Downstairs behind the staircase was a tunnel that plunged under the house towards the graveyard, and ended inside his mother's mausoleum. 'Just a quick 'hi'' he thought, 'and then I'll go back to bed…'

_**-Kul Elna Graveyard, 10:15 pm-**_

Several insects and a few specks of dust were meticulously swept off by Ryou's pale, slender hands from the roughly-cut tombstone. "Amani Morgan, 2015-2033" was the letters and numbers etched into the rock.

Ryou was a frequent visitor to this tomb. At least once a day he would come. Sometimes he would come bearing trinkets for the grave, sometimes to read aloud, but most often to talk.

The pale child was alone. Except for his father, never had he made contact with another living person. It was obvious to him that his father wanted it that way. Even knowing his father's designs, Ryou could not bring himself to begrudge him. He understood that his father was still tormented with the death of his mother, and didn't want to lose yet another family member. He loved his father, and didn't want to cause him any unhappiness, especially because the man had devoted his entire life to finding Ryou's cure.

But in the recesses of his heart, he longed to be set free; to talk to people, to be limitless, and to see the world that he had only read about and seen from television programs.

Over the years, he became accustomed to talking to the tombstone; sharing secrets of his, new discoveries, or anything of the sort. Since his mother was dead, she would never betray his trust, like his father insisted people did quite often.

The albino wiped his nose, smiled, and patted the polished marble. He bent his head over the slab reverently, just ghosting his lips over his mother's name, "Goodnight Mom, thank you for giving up so much just for me."

He was all prepared to leave, when he felt the iron doors of the mausoleum clang from an impact. Ryou jumped and sucked in his breath. A second resounding clang met his ears, the doors giving way partly. He wanted to open the hidden staircase and run back inside, but found himself rooted to the spot in fear, and curiosity.

The doors swung open, and a figure stumbled inside. Thrusting against the doors again, the doors slammed shut, leaving the person panting against them with his back to the boy.

The figure appeared to be a man, at least half a foot taller than the teen. His hair was a light shade of grey, cropped below his shoulders in layered spikes, nothing to Ryou's feathered snowy locks. A soiled red robe, muddy at the coat tails, hugged the man's shoulders while billowing at his waist down to his ankles. Thick brown boots covered his feet.

The man turned, and then stumbled back when he took notice of Ryou. He had pale lavender eyes, and very tanned skin. His chest was covered by a black muscle shirt, and his legs were clothed by a pair of tight jeans. A wicked scar ran vertically along his eye, to be intersected by two horizontal slashes just below his cheekbone. All around, he looked disheveled and dirty, yet held a very handsome physique and face.

He spoke, "Did you hit this one already?"

Ryou cocked his head, "I'm sorry…what?"

This appeared to amuse the man, "Oh, you aren't a grave robber, my mistake. What are you doing in here, babe?" Ryou was too overwhelmed to speak. He shrugged, "Oh well, outta the way please," he pushed past the boy, and began shoving at the crypt.

Ryou panicked, "Hey! Stop that!" He swatted at the man's hands.

"What? Sorry sugar, I have to. It's my job." The man explained evenly.

Once again, Ryou was perplexed, "It's your job to defile people's graves?"

A crooked grin spread across the man's face. He reached inside his cloak, and pulled out a small glass vile filled to the brim with an eerily glowing green substance. "Where do you think people get Zydrate? Graveyards. What sort of things do you see in a graveyard?"

Ryou shook his head. The man rolled his eyes, then took Ryou's wrist. Startled, Ryou tried to lean back, but was pulled out of the tomb, into the graveyard outside. It was ironic, he thought, that his first moment outside would be in a place of the dead.

The mysterious grave robber stooped over an opened grave, pulling out the corpse. "Like this, _watch_," he ordered. From his cloak, he pulled out a long syringe and roughly inserted it into the corpse's nostril. Ryou covered his mouth in the grotesque nature of it. The glowing substance began to trickle like water into the empty vile. Once it was completely filled, the man withdrew his needle. "That's how you get Zydrate. Promise not to tell?" Ryou nodded his head dumbly.

He chuckled, and ruffled Ryou's hair, "Anyway, what's a pretty little thing like you doing in here?"

He pointed back to the mausoleum, "That's my mom," he said.

The grave robber nodded, "Oh. Sorry I tried to stick her, but hey, a guy's gotta make a living right?" He stood, and wiped some of the Zydrate residue from his cloak, "So what's your name, kiddo?"

The smaller one offered his hand politely, "I'm Ryou, nice to meet you,"

The taller smirked and outstretched his own, "Touzokuo."

The introductions were interrupted by an authoritative shout from across the yard, "Hey! We have Grave Robber's on site! Hurry up! Grave Robber's on site!"

_**A/N:**_ Cliffhanger. Will Ryou and Touzo get away? Of course they will, but not without a few setbacks and an exciting chase scene. Hehehe. I hope this intrigued you if nothing else. Do let me know if the story is at all confusing, I know it can get a little hard to follow. Chapter three should be up in a few days, so be on the lookout!


	3. Infected Angel

Chapter 3: Infected Angel

_**-GeneCo Tower, 10:30 pm-**_

"Malik, what are these?"Pegasus growled, flashing a folder of photographs at his son.

The boy in question yawned, stretching his muscled arms over his head. He was a young man, perhaps 18 years of age. He was tall and lean, but nicely toned with wiry muscle in all the right places. Bleached blond hair hung in tendrils around his face, but was clipped just below his neck. Apathetic amethyst eyes slid half closed, as if to fall asleep.

Pegasus stepped around the couch on which the blond reclined and slammed the folder onto the coffee table, "You _disgust_ me," he snarled before striding over to his desk.

Malik sat up and flipped through the pictures. They were all of him; posing half naked with two men pressing lips and hands all over his chest and neck. He giggled, recalling his little romp two nights ago.

The elder was not the least bit amused. Malik's indecencies were not the only source of his embarrassment. All three of his sons were disreputable in their unique ways.

As if to mock him by coincidence, his other two sons burst into the office. The oldest, Seto, was splattered with crimson and brandishing a knife similarly stained. The younger, Otogi, held aloft a mirror while lovingly running the tips of his fingers over the contours of his newly attached face.

Seto was notoriously known for his…temper. Anyone who inconvenienced him in the slightest usually found themselves gagging in a puddle of their own bodily fluids.

Otogi was not quite so violent, but was by no means docile. His passion lied in beauty. Nothing pleased him more than looking stunning, whether he sported his own face or not. Often, when he happened to see a person with a particularly lovely face, he would simply…take it, and plaster it atop his own.

"Where the fuck is Malik?!" Seto called to his father. Coming around to the center of the office, he pointed an accusing finger at the blond, "Where the hell did you put the files, you little slut?!"

Malik only crossed his legs and batted his eyelashes innocently, "I didn't take anything, brother. Ask Otogi."

Seto tightened his grip on the knife and hissed through gritted teeth, "I know you moved them. They were on my desk this afternoon and now they're gone."

No one spoke for awhile, and then the youngest hopped off the couch, "I'm going out, Dad. Bye Seto," He winked at his infuriated brother.

Once his squabbling offspring finally decided to relieve his nerves and depart, Pegasus settled back into his work.

Though it seemed fate had other ideas, and promptly set things in motion.

The wall-to-wall monitor behind the desk suddenly flickered to life, "Mr. Pegasus, there's been an attempted grave robbing in Kul Elna cemetery," a guard reported through the screen. "We are currently in pursuit of the pair. Should immediate execution be implemented sir?"

The CEO groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "May I see a screening of the perpetrators?" The screen displayed an image of a gloomy graveyard with police weaving between tombs, chasing after two running persons. Zooming in on the targets, their figures were made discernable.

The first target fit the stereotypical grave robber look; seedy wardrobe, disheveled hair and quick on his feet. Pegasus was about to give the order, until the second target took him by surprise.

He was beautiful! Long, snowy white hair and perfect blemish free pale skin. His large doe eyes were wide with fright as he struggled to keep up with the one dragging him along

His attire was clean-cut; Ribbed white tank top with a black over-vest. His jeans were in perfect condition, without a single mud stain or tear. A boy dressed so nicely could not possibly be a graverobber.

Pegasus had found his new plaything.

"Sir? Your orders?" The guardsman called again.

"I have no interest in the corpse leech. Dispatch of him. But, bring me the pale boy for questioning," he answered coolly, barely containing his excitement.

"Yes sir," was the only reply.

_**-Kul Elna graveyard, 10:45 pm-**_

Ryou panted heavily, trying to move quickly. His heart palpitated erratically with each cumbersome breath. He wanted to stop, but the death grip Touzokuo had on his hand insistently pulled. "C'mon! This way, kid!" the graverobber shouted, "Hurry up!"Sucking up the pain, he put all his energy into running at full speed.

The pounding of the guard's boots began growing fainter and fainter behind them as they shrank into the distance.

The graveyard had shifted to a large city. The elder ducked into an alley way, jerking the boy in after him.

"_Blood pressure warning…Blood pressure warning…"_

The heart monitor on his wrist began to sound off. The pale teen staggered, clutching his chest in pain, "Gahh! Ah…haaa"

Touzokuo turned back to him, "Hey kid, you ok?"

Ryou released his death grip on the front of his shirt, instead latching onto the thief's arm, "I-I'm sorry…I need…my shot…" his form began to slump.

The graverobber stooped, trying to support the teen, "H-hey, calm down…just hang in there, ok?"

"_Medicate immediately…medicate immediately…"_

Ryou's head dropped onto Touzokuo's chest, unconscious.

Trying to stay calm, the man shifted Ryou's weight and scooped him up into his arms. 'He had said something about a shot…But I can't take him home yet, too many cops…'

He tried shaking him, but the child's head merely flopped from side to side without reaction.

After several minutes of debate, he stood, carrying Rou vertically in his arms, "Ok, don't worry, I'll have you fixed up."

_**-Sanitarium Square, 11:12 pm-**_

"No wait! Please, I promise, I'll pay later!" a woman begged fearfully as the shrouded figure approached.

He moved with precision, closing in on the terrified girl.

"I'm sorry! Please, I-" A gloved hand clasped her throat, throwing her to the ground. Scalpel in hand, he shredded the fabric of her shirt.

Her screams of terror turned to wails of agony; his surgical knife separated her chest cavity. With professional grace, the muscles and tissue were stripped away.

The sought after heart was given a popping twist, and severed from the arteries.

Silence settled.

The Repo Man cradled the heart in his left palm, while the right opened his storage container. The organ was wrapped in plastic, and carefully laid inside.

The woman's blood coated the metallic, synthetic material of the trench coat he wore. A surgeon's mask made of similar material had been fashioned to cover his head, with a visor over his eyes. Along the interior of the visor was a blue lighting, accentuating the morbid, feral reds present in his irises.

Nudging the limp body aside with his boot, he rose to his full height. He stood at 6'6'', head and shoulders, his figure was tall and imposing; not hulking and bulging, but exuded a sense of power that left you shrinking into yourself.

'_Bakura Akeifa, you have a new assignment,' _His wrist communicator glowed, relaying the message. A holographic image emerged from the display screen. It was a head shot of man, possibly early 20's. His erratic hairstyle reminded Bakura of himself. Judging by the scar and all-around messy look, he assumed this man was a criminal of some sort.

'_This graverobber was caught in the act in Kul Elna cemetery. He managed to elude the guard, and headed straight for Sanitarium. We would rather not dispatch the entire squad to avoid causing panic. Eradicate him, but be sure to apprehend the teenage boy he has with him. Mr. Pegasus wishes to interrogate him.' _The hologram faded, and his device switched off automatically.

The Repo Man pulled on his rubber gloves, sheathed his scalpel in the niche of his belt, and swept silently into the street, expertly slipping into shadows.

_**-Sanitarium Square, SurGen's Strip, 'Boost a Sexier X-Ray!' boutique, 11:20 pm-**_

Touzokuo gave three frantic 'dings' to the service bell on the front counter. Ryou hung limply off his shoulder.

"Welcome to 'Boost a Sexier X-Ray'" an enthusiastic voice rang from behind the wall, "Be with you in a moment."

The graverobber moved over to the empty waiting area, setting his burden in a chair.

A tall man clothed in a white operating jacket appeared behind the counter. Long golden tufts of hair erupted from his scalp in pointed spikes. His skin matched the shade of bronze of Touzokuo's, as well as the ghostly grey eyes.

"Touzo! So good to see you!" The SurGen cried in a lilting yet pitch-heavy voice, "Did you decide to take up my offer on the new Digital Corneas?"

"No, I actually brought you a patient," he replied smoothly, gesturing to the sleeping albino in the chair.

The tall blond squealed excitedly and dashed out behind the counter, lifting Ryou's head in his latex covered finger, "Oh, Touzo! He's gorgeous! What does he want? I hope it's internal, I'll bet his kidneys are glorious!"

His hands began poking and prodding Ryou's stomach, sternum and abdomen.

"Tsk, tsk, Touzo, did you drug the poor little thing? He out like a light."

"He just fainted right on the spot. I think he's anemic or something. Can you help him, Marik?"

Marik blew his feathery bangs from his eyes, "Damn it, Touzo, I'm a plastic surgeon, not a doctor. You need to take him to the hospital."

The graverobber began biting his nails, "Yeaaa…umm, I kinda had a little accident. I got caught robbing, and he got involved, so now the police are looking for us.

The blond slapped his forehead, "Great Touzo, just great. Don't you know I could get fired just for talking to you?" standing up, he grabbed the teen's shoulders, "Hold his legs, I'll see what I can do…"

Upon entering the operating room, Ryou was placed gently on the table. "Ok…take his shirt off, please." Marik pulled a heart monitor from the corner. He attached the little valves from the machine to his pale skin. "His pulse is going too fast, probably blood pressure is too high."

He exited the room, and returned with a small syringe, "This should regulate his blood flow." He injected the serum into Ryou's ribcage.

Touzokuo let out a sigh of relief when the boy's heart rate began to slow, "Why do you have stuff like that around?"

Marik shrugged, "Sometimes patients have an allergic reaction to the anesthetic. We use that to soothe the symptoms." He removed the heart monitor, "He's a lucky kid. His veins might have exploded if his blood pressure had kept building."

Gradually, the shivering mass of a boy began to awaken. He took a few shaky breathes. Sitting up on his elbows, he rubbed his head groggily.

"Feel better?" Touzokuo smoothed a few stray hairs on Ryou's head.

"Oooh! Look at those eyes!" Marik chimed, suddenly pressing fingers under his eyelids, "Just lovely! Do you want any surgery, precious? I must take a look at your kidneys! Is your heart giving you any trouble? I could take a look for you, if you'd like!" Marik continued to prattle while admiring the angles of Ryou's face, looking like he was about to pee his pants with excitement.

Ryou brushed the prying hands away, "No, sorry, no surgery for me thanks."

The SurGen's face fell in disappointment, "Awww damn it…" he backed off reluctantly.

Ryou hopped off the operating table, "Sorry for the inconvenience, Touzokuo," he pulled his shirt on, and buttoned his vest, "But thanks for saving me…I have a blood disease, and it's normally not safe for me to be outside. Could you take me home now, please?"

Touzokuo cocked his head, 'Not allowed to be outside? I wonder if he gets much company, maybe THAT'S why he seems so innocent…and pretty…Oops, bad thoughts, he's too young for that sort of thing…'

"Sure thing, kiddo," he winked with his good eye.

_**-Malik Sweet-**_

Damn, it's raining again.

All this damn rain is gonna ruin my complexion, I swear. God knows I can't let that happen, not with 'The Genetic Exhibition' opening in just two days.

Oh yes, I can just see it, 'Malik Sweet: Stunning New Vocalist!' written all across the headlines. Hehe, probably it'll be the first bit of "wholesome" publicity I've ever had. Not that I'm ashamed of my little "sexcapades", but it's getting boring, and I need a bit of a switchup.

But, what I'm looking forward to most of all is finally getting the spotlight off of fucking Atem for a change. I can't believe that no one's gotten tired of his stupid fucking poetry yet…it's just poetry! What the hell is so great about that?

People are full of so much bullshit.

Oh shit, the new corneas are oozing again. Oh fuck, that HURTS!

Ugh, damn SurGen didn't install them right. Well, she's going to have to fucking fix, or I'll be sure she has a date with Seto's knife.

Owww, Owww…crap.

I gotta find some Z. Where the hell is that graverobber?

Mmm…Touzokuo. Ya know, he is sooo hot, but I haven't screwed him! Guess it's just because he hasn't made any offers.

Hey…isn't that him? Coming out of…a surgery boutique? Ha! Well, I see he can't point the finger at me for being a scalpel slut. Not too often he's here in Sanitarium…wonder what the call was? And who's that skinny kid with him?

_**-Sanitarium Square, 11:40 pm-**_

"Hey graverobber!" Malik's shrill voice pierced the air.

Touzokuo cringed and threw a 'shhh!' back at the boy over his shoulder as he jogged to catch up with him.

"What's up?" he purred, brushing his fingers against his arm.

Giving a paranoid scan around the premises, he grabbed Malik's, pulling him into an alley way, Ryou also in tow. "Listen plastic cheeks, your dad's cops are looking everywhere for me right now, so I'd appreciate it if you would _please_ keep your damn mouth shut about this?" he whispered fervently.

Malik only heckled snarkily and pulled him arm away, "Ohh and who's your cutie friend?" he turned his attention to Ryou, who smiled back in recognition.

"You're Malik Sweet! I've seen you on the TV!"

The blond beamed, "Have you? Well, you must think I'm _quite_ the little skank then, which I am." He bent in a seductive pose with his hands on his hips, "Care to try out my new parts?"

Ryou withdrew nervously, "No, that's ok."

At this he huffed, mildly insulted, "Whatever. Hey graverobber, you got any Glow?"

Grumbling in frustration, he rummaged through the deep pockets of his cloak. He produced the green vile. "That'll be 60 bucks, thanks."

"Oh really? Aw, I'm a little short. But I'm sure those nice policemen over across the street would be happy to lend me a little…" he trailed off.

Touzokuo growled, clearly detesting the playful banter, "Fine, half off. Just keep your mouth _shut_, got it?"

Malik smiled sweetly and grabbed the vile. He thrust 30 dollars back into the outstretched hand, "Much obliged!" He turned and walked away, with a bit of an extra swing in his hips.

The grey haired man rolled his eyes, "What a freakin' whore," he grumbled.

Ryou blinked, still staring after the lavender-eyed boy, "He didn't seem so bad…"

Touzokuo snorted, "You're only sayin' that 'cause he's hot. He certainly likes to play the part of the innocent millionaire's son, but he's such a little bitch, trust me." He lowered his voice, "You know, Marik has a major bone for him?"

Ryou turned, "Marik likes him?"

"Yea, apparently he did a bone-carving for him once, and he's been obsessed with him since. Sadly, Malik usually goes to really upscale boutiques, Marik hasn't seen him."

The pale youth sighed, "That's too bad."

Touzokuo shrugged, "We better get going. Which way did you say your house was?"

"Umm, 801 Cheapside?"

He paused, trying to make a map of the city in his head. "Sure, I know where that is. Not too far from Kul Elna. Let's go."

Before he could react, Ryou's hand was grabbed and was once again being pulled at a brisk pace.

Down the street, Malik was busy turning his pretty glass tube over and over in his palm. He glanced back to see if Touzokuo was still standing there.

All he saw was Touzokuo's cloak hem whisk around the corner. However, a very different man stood in his place. A GeneCo insignia gleamed upon the chest of his trench coat. His helmet's visor sparked an electric blue lighting. Insane crimson eyes flashed to Malik's before turning away, and gliding after the graverobber with murderous intent.

"Somebody's in trouble," Malik murmured in a sing-song voice, with a twisted little smile on his face,

He walked the other way.

**A/N:** Phew! Sorry about the wait guys. So, what do you think? Otogi and Seto won't be in this too much, but I just wanted to establish that they would be present. Did anyone catch Malik's little mentioning of Atem? He's going to have a VERY big role, as well as a few others.

With my writing I like to use a lot of cryptic messages, subliminal messages and subtle plot points, so really pay attention while you're reading. Review? Please?


	4. Crucifixus

Chapter 4: Crucifixus

_**-Cheapside Street, 12:00 am-**_

Eventually, Touzokuo slowed his pace to a leisurely walk once he was quite certain of the absence of the threat of police. Ryou and he even began engaging in casual conversation.

"…Grave robbing may not be the most glamorous job, but it pays."

"Do you take Zydrate yourself?"

"No. I don't particularly ENJOY people poking around inside me, so I'm defiantly not into surgery. I never needed Zydrate, so I never got addicted."

"Don't you ever feel bad for the people who _are_ addicted?"

Touzokuo laughed at what he thought would have been a rhetorical question, but considering Ryou's obvious ignorance of such matters, he answered, "Of course not, for several reasons: One, they PAY me to feed their addiction. If they weren't addicted, guess who would be out of a job? Two, they LIKE being the way they are. Sure, you hear all the fuss about 'support networks' and 'addiction hotlines' but it's all just a mess of shit. They aren't ashamed of themselves, so why should I pity them?"

Ryou folded his arms to his chest, and stared hard at the payment. He quirked his head several times, implying he wanted to give an answer, but said nothing else of the matter. "How did you-"

"_Damn_ you ask a lot of questions!"

Ryou cracked a small smile, "I guess I do. Sorry, it's just so different for me to talk to someone besides my dad. This is my first real unbiased conversation ever."

"…Ever? Really?"

Calmly, he explained the death of his mother, his disease, his father's strict 'no contact' policy and naturally his inclination towards the graveyard.

Touzokuo's hardened eyes suddenly made Ryou uneasy, "That's just bullshit. You can't let him keep you locked up like that, it's cruel and it's wrong."

'It is wrong, but it isn't cruel." Ryou sighed resignedly, "He doesn't do it out of spite. You have to understand, my dad doesn't have anyone. He's so engrossed in work…and me, that he isolates himself from everyone. He doesn't know how else to love me except to horde me, and center his whole life on me. I've tried to convince him otherwise, but he has become so set in his ways that he cannot be reasoned with. I might not even live very much longer, so would it really be so bad to spend your indefinite lifespan with someone who desperately needs the company?"

"But don't you hate that you never even GOT a chance to live at all?"

He folded into himself once again, honey eyes darting back to his sneakers. "No, I don't hate him. I could never hate him. I am only sad. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't bother me anymore." Touzokuo did not push him about it again.

The thief himself was actually surprised how much he cared that Ryou was unhappy. Marik was his childhood friend, so it was only natural for him to care about him. Ryou was just a sick kid (who was admittedly very pretty) that had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, so he helped him a bit.

There was something special…or different at least, about Ryou; something that wasn't about his beauty, his illness, or even his peculiar forgiving and understanding nature. This was a strange, undetectable kind of special…

"We're here," Ryou interrupted his thoughts to point out a Victorian-style home. Touzokuo nearly snorted at the irony that _this_ was the house Ryou lived in; complete with the tower and balcony.

"Well, I guess this is goodnight…" he murmured.

Ryou had already opened the Iron Gate under the trellis when he turned back, "Will I…see you again?"

The elder smiled, finding he flattered himself that the youth indeed wanted to see him again. He bowed, and blew a kiss gallantly, "Of course! Come back to Kul Elna anytime. I'll be waiting."

He smiled a full, genuine smile. The whole vicinity seemed to light up with the glimmer of ecstasy that filled Ryou's angelic face, "Great! Umm, I'll come as soon as I can. Goodbye, Touzokuo!" He scampered to the front door and quietly crept in.

The graverobber felt dizzy with a feeling he couldn't quite identify, 'I'll be waiting,' he thought.

_**-Bakura-**_

Why am I doing this? I have many more pressing assignments to attend to. What is so important about this graverobber that he has to come before everything else?

Further, who is this child I'm apprehending? What could he possibly have information of that he is worth all the trouble of interrogating? Ridiculous. I couldn't get a good look at him before he went inside, but he looks pretty small, easy prey. A toothpick, that's all he is, one little toothpick.

I'd better get rid of the graverobber first. I'm not so sure about the simplicity of his disposal. He's not exactly small or scrawny like that toothpick. He's more like a statue…like the ones that you see in the museum. No matter, one push in the right direction and he'll crumble.

Sorry graverobber, your time is up.

_**-Cheapside street, 12:15 am-**_

The silence of the street was unsettling. The muddy coat tails of his cloak slapped against the thief's ankles. Touzokuo clenched his Zydrate-needle in his white-knuckled fist.

"I know you're out there, whoever you are," he called out into the darkness with false confidence, "Just come out and tell me what you want."

And then he heard it.

A deep, boastful cackle. It resonated from the person's chest, bouncing off the asphalt and echoing eerily. It was amused, in the most sinister of ways, breathy and light but chilling and terrifying in its darkened pitch.

It had been some time since the graverobber had been so mortally afraid.

Scarcely had such a haunting overture of malevolence, saturated with the insanity of a deranged mind been emitted. The man stepped out of the shadows, and instantly Touzokuo wished he hadn't. The trench coat and mask ensemble gave away his identity as a Repo man. Ghostly violets bravely bored into brilliant pools of bloody terror.

His instrument of destruction was not a scalpel, but a freshly sharpened knife. He stepped even closer…his boots made no sound on the pavement.

With a flash, he was upon his victim, sitting on his chest, his knife at his neck. Touzokuo reacted instantly. He embedded his foot in the Repo man's back and toppled him off in a somersault.

The graverobber leapt to his feet and ran back the way he came, towards Ryou's house. The assassin had anticipated the struggle, and ran after him.

Catching up quickly, he grappled the thief into a headlock and wrestled him to the ground. Touzokuo reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his syringe, thrusting it into the side of Bakura's partially exposed neck. Bakura inhaled sharply, but did not waver in his grip.

Feeling his hands slide up to his head, meaning to snap his neck, Touzokuo gripped his arms and held fast. Rearing up his head, he did a backwards head butt and chomped down on the offending arm.

Feeling his nose crunch from the impact, the Repo man snarled in frustration and slackened his arms.

Seeing his opportunity, the captive broke through the restraints, and tried again to flee. He was closing in on the gate when Bakura retrieved his knife that he had dropped in the initial struggle. Just as Touzokuo had picked up his feet to jump the fence, Bakura's blade was flung at him, swiftly cutting through the air before embedding itself with a perfect stab to the thief's calf.

His leg went limp, and caught between the metal rungs of the fence, giving a 180 degree twist and crack to his ankle. The thief went down hard, his shoulder connecting with the dirt and shattering upon impact. He let out a strangled howl of anguish.

He shuddered; fearing death would soon claim him. At the moment, his vision met two black boots stepping languidly over the iron fence. He was hauled up by his arms and dragged to the nearest wall of the house. Those evil, murderous eyes seemed to mock him as he felt the cool metal once again connect with the tender skin below his Adam's Apple.

All inclination to resist had vanished as the pupils of the burgundy eyes grew smaller, slanted, the light leaving them, revealing only hollow orbs with the anticipation of the kill consuming them.

The knife was drawn back, prepared to strike. Touzokuo winced and looked away.

The knife was halted on its downward course by the sound of an opening door. Bakura froze, turning his head towards the source of the disturbance. The balcony of the side-tower he now had his soon-to-be victim pinned against, indeed, had opened its doors.

Touzokuo opened his mouth to scream but was met with Bakura's gloved hand. He pushed the thief even further against the wall, and held him still with his body.

The Repo man kept his gaze locked on the balcony, hoping whoever had come to investigate would leave soon…

…Until he was able to fully see the heavenly figure that had emerged.

Ryou peered over the railing of the balcony, quite certain that he had heard someone scream only moments ago when he was changing back into his t-shirt. He saw only the tiny light provided by the street lamps.

Staring up at the boy, Bakura no longer wanted to kidnap the teenage boy, if that indeed was him, and he no longer felt driven to kill the graverobber either. So beautiful was the child, Bakura felt moisture slip from his eyes.

Ryou left the balcony, and shut the glass door behind him.

Bakura paused several minutes before jerking his head back to Touzokuo, "Listen exactly to what I say, and I won't kill you," he whispered. His voice was powerful, but held an undertone of a sharp soprano.

Slowly, the knife was removed from his neck, but the grip on his body did not let up. Touzokuo's heart skipped, thinking he really might live after all.

"Tell me, corpse leech, who that boy is. What is his name?" The thief's eyes suddenly clouded with concern, and turned towards Ryou's balcony.

Bakura withdrew his knife once more, "TELL ME," the tip made a small nick near his collar bone. He removed the offending hand from his captive's mouth, "Are you so eager to see your own esophagus? I promise I will not be gentile with your death if you choose to ignore me."

"R-Ryou," Touzokuo cursed his cowardice.

Bakura took a moment to revel in how perfectly suited that name was for the pale teen. "I see…" he took one last look towards the balcony. "Now…get out of here."

Touzokuo's eyes slid away from Bakura's, "But you-he's only-"

"Don't forget, you scum, that I can just as easily get rid of you." Touzokuo fell silent.

The assassin chuckled, and gave him a sharp shove towards the ground, "We'll meet again. Oh, and not a word of this is to be mentioned. If you do, you will not escape me, is that clear?"

Touzokuo made no reply, but stared dumbly at the man he had thought for sure was going to kill him. Finally coming to his senses, he picked himself up and limped away from the brick wall of the tower. 'I'm sorry, Ryou…'

_**-Orichalchos District, 1:00 am-**_

It wasn't often Touzokuo returned to his apartment before 3 o'clock am on a weekday. The hours between midnight and five were considered primetime for all manner of seedy and unlawful extracurricular activities. He usually collected his peddling product earlier than most (many consider this to be risky, but Touzokuo had never before been caught) and ended earlier. Since he was already out of Zydrate and beaten within an inch of his life, he thought it only appropriate he should end early.

He stopped in front of his apartment complex. The name of the building was no longer discernable; every other letter of the remaining words had been worn or scratched away.

Men and women were scattered around the premises. Some sat in the middle of the sidewalk with their knees to their chest, gently rocking back and forth, bloodshot eyes tearing, small snuffling whimpers brushing past their lips. Some danced drunkenly in the street, pressing against one another with little discretion. Others simply littered the street and alley, passed out or merely sleeping.

It wasn't misery, joy, pleasure of pain to see them. It was a morbid painting of reality. There was hardly any need for analyzing; this was a generally accepted display of humanity.

Guarding his crumpled shoulder with his hand, he tenderly pushed his way through the throng of people conglomerated in the hallway.

Room 123 was partially ajar. He leaned against with his good shoulder and slipped inside, closing it behind him with his stricken leg.

The room was poorly furnished and painfully small. The only furniture was a crooked table with three mismatched chairs, and a faded couch. Two futons were pushed against opposite walls of the room with worn blankets tossed across them. A tiny kitchen behind a divide, and a bathroom around the corner were the only other rooms.

Two women occupied the apartment besides the thief, both of whom were now staring at him curiously.

A long, dark haired young woman with pretty olive skin was curled up on the couch. "_Touzokuo_!" she said confidently, "_Izayak_?"

"_Ilhimdoulilah_," he mumbled, slumping against the doorframe.

The other woman was a bit older, with a perfect athletic build. Her brunette hair was short and spiked. She poked her pixie-like face out from around the kitchen divide, "Don't encourage her, make her speak English," her voice was quiet, but held inner strength. Her accent was only slight, and repressed.

"Right, sorry."

She smiled wearily. Leaning over the sink she cupped a handful of water and delicately washed a lingering bad taste out of her mouth. "Scoot off the couch, Bastet. Touzo is hurt."

The younger woman slid over on the cushions with youthful grace, "Touzokuo…falls?" she asked, gesturing to the shoulder that he cradled.

He nodded slowly, "Yes, I fell. How do you feel?" He sat down beside her and placed a tentative hand on her hipbone. He didn't fail to notice her wince.

"I can have some Zydrate now?" she asked politely with a heavy Arabic accent.

His eyes saddened and he moved his hand away, "I'm sorry _miw-sher,_ there isn't any left today. Tomorrow night, ok?"

Bastet nodded, and lay down on the opposite side of the couch with her knees tucked in tight.

The brunette woman sighed exasperatedly, "Bast, I told you-"

"Leave her alone, Nailah. She's fine." Touzokuo moved off the couch and sat on his futon in the corner. Carefully, he shed his cloak and t-shirt. Nailah gasped softly when she saw the ivory bone poking through the skin of his shoulder.

"Oh Ra, Touzo-"

"I know, I should've gone to see Marik. I'm just so tired…and he's already done one favor for me today, well yesterday technically."

Nailah felt the foul taste return to her mouth, and promptly returned to the sink. Once the taste was cleansed, she swiped a roll of gauze from the counter and handed it to Touzokuo.

Tenderly, he set his shoulder, wrapping it tight with the gauze. Slipping out of his jeans and boots, he mimicked the treatment on his knife wound. Nailah watched all this is silence.

"You didn't fall." She stated this with decisiveness. He snorted and shook his head. "Will…they be back?" She asked with a tremor of fear.

"No." The finality of his answer set her slightly at ease. Touzokuo never embellished the truth.

"Are you meeting another client?" he asked.

"That all depends. How much did _you_ make?"

"Not much…30."

"That's all?!" the woman instantly regretted her word choice, "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just…been a long day."

The grave robber's face softened, and he rolled unto his back. "Yea…you and me both."

Nailah slipped on a pair of black pumps, pulled her hair back and walked towards the door. "I'll be back in an hour. Get some sleep."

He nodded, already dozing off. His pale grey hair cushioned part of his head, while strands of it arranged around his caramel face. His solid muscled chest rose and fell gently with each breath. The last sound he heard was the door close.

His last conscious thought was of a lily white face with soft, twinkling doe eyes.

**A/N:** I actually didn't intend for this chapter to be this long. I was going to end it with Bakura and Touzo's pact, but I thought you all would appreciate a little back story for Touzo.

For those of you wondering, "Who the heck are Bastet and Nailah? Are they important? Why do they live with Touzo? What's wrong with Bastet? What sort of 'client' is Nailah seeing?"

Bastet and Nailah are ORIGINAL characters of mine created for the sole purpose of developing Touzokuo's character. They aren't really_ that_ important in regards to the story proper, but I thought I would include them anyway, at least for this chapter. If anyone is really that curious about who they are, and would like to see more of them, let me know! I might add them in again later if there's interest.

Translations:

Izayak- How are you?

Ilhimdoulilah- Fine/alright

(This is Egyptian-Arabic, the most commonly spoken language in modern day Egypt)


	5. Mark it Up

Chapter 5: Mark It Up

_**-Bakura-**_

The strangest thing seems to happen when you realize you fancy someone. You start comparing them to every other person you know, and coming up with reasons why they're better.

I can remember my younger years when such an infatuation was rare, but exciting all the same. From the time of throwing rocks at the pretty girls, to flipping up their skirts and earning a fist in the stomach, the concept of romantic tension has always remained the same: You like them, but you'll _die_ before you let them know how much.

Perhaps this is why I'm so frustrated with me feelings now, because they aren't precisely that of infatuation. It's been so long since I've been able to feel very much at all. Shame and anger seemed to be the most frequent emotions for the longest time, but they have long since been purged from my conscience.

The only reason I won't turn in that child is because he made me feel _something._

Love? No. I'm convinced that I've sacrificed my right to partake in such a thing as love.

Surely I'm not at all attracted to him. Never before have I felt inclined to men in such a manner, much less a boy who must be at least three or four years my junior.

Who knows…Who cares…Nothing like that matters.

Never the less, something must be done. I'll not allow my curiosity to divert me from my…assignments.

And yet…Perhaps an introduction…Ridiculous, what a bloody absurd notion. Still, it has been awhile since I've made any new acquaintances. It's not exactly an asset to your social life when you mention you're a psychopath that rips bloody body parts from people for a living.

Maybe that's all this feeling is, a craving for positive attention. The boy's appearance simply accentuates the impression that he is highly approachable. That's all it is.

I might just be able to arrange an outing…'The Genetic Exhibition' seems promising. But there's no guarantee that he'll agree…Posh, all that can be arranged by a little incentive for that graverobber…

_**-Crawford Estate, 11:12 am-**_

"All work and no play makes Seto a dull boy, all work and no play makes Seto a duuuuull booooooooy!" Malik squawked into his dedicated brother's ear. For everything that was wrong with Seto, he was the only one of his three brothers that made any effort to better the company one of them would one day inherit. It wasn't that he cared so much for the survival of millions of dying people. To say it was his want of affluence that drove him would only be a mere additive to his true design.

His rampant ego wouldn't stomach the idea that anyone could possibly be more intelligent or successful than he.

While Malik strutted around the media scene thrusting his genitals at any slob with a camera, and Otogi puttered with his faces and chased skirts, Seto ran numbers and made phone calls. All with the occasional 'accidental' murder, of course.

Malik leaned over Seto's shoulder at the report he was reading, "Blah, blah, blah, really brother dearest, come with us to the exhibition tomorrow night!"

He scoffed, "Just to watch you prance around a stage and pretend you can sing? I think I'll leave _that_ to the 16 year old girls…"

The report was snatched from his hand, "I'm _asking_ you to come with us! You're lucky I'm even inviting you, you prick!" he waved the paper teasingly over his head when Seto rose to retrieve it.

"Give me that paper and **get the fuck out!**" he bellowed as the blonde dashed out of the room with the report still held playfully aloft. Seto bounded recklessly after him down the corridor.

"All work and no play makes Seto a dull boy!" he chanted over and over, running faster still.

"**Malik!"** Seto's tolerance was rapidly disappearing.

The blonde flung himself at Otogi's bedroom door and pounded mercilessly, "'Togi! 'Togi! Help me!" he shrieked, stifling his laughter. Seto pounced just as Malik curled himself around the paper.

"Give it to me, NOW." Seto hissed. A raspberry was his only answer.

Otogi's door opened wide, causing Malik and Seto to fall inside. He was concealed only by a sheet slung across his hips, and two giggling ladies were looped around each of his arms. "Uh-oh, have you too been playing nice?"

Malik hid himself behind his dark-haired brother, "Seto won't go to the exhibition with us, so I stole his report. Make him come with us, 'Togi!" he whined in a falsetto.

Otogi rolled his eyes, "Just give him the report back, you knew he wasn't going to come anyway." One of the women stroked Malik's hair and moaned softly in invitation. The teen only grinned cheekily and walked around to Seto.

"Alright, fine. Take your ball and chain," he sighed as he thrust the paperwork into his brother's expectant hand.

Otogi looked down at Malik's feet, "Oy, what do you think you're doing wearing those?!"

Malik lifted his booted foot, "What?"

"My boots, Malik! You're wearing MY boots!"

He shrugged, "Fine, take them," He pulled them off and clunked them near the door.

Otogi released the two girls and picked up his boots, "NO, I don't want them now! You've been traipsing around in them doing god knows what!"

At this the blond turned and glared, "Oh and I suppose _you've _been knitting sweaters all night?" he sneered sarcastically gesturing to the women now rummaging through the pile of sheets for their clothing.

A pillow was seized from the bed and brought down on Malik's head, "At least I only had TWO!" Malik grabbed a pillow of his own and socked his brother in the stomach.

"Two more than I had!" Another whap in the stomach.

Seto, who had been watching the exchange, grabbed the wood of the door, "You're both **whores!"**

The door slammed shut.

**-801 Cheapside Street, 1:01 pm-**

'_Beauty, in its rawest form, cannot be found within one finite being. True Beauty is that which is not concrete, and is not tangible by any mortal form. It circles us forever in an eternal dance of splendor. The entire world can know it and the entire world can see it, but not all the world can understand it. Beauty can be found in life, always. It is exceptional when it is found in death.'_

Ryou closed his well-worn book with a sigh of contentment. Atem Akuna was his favorite author. Was it his word choice, or his insight? It was most definitely a combination of the two. For one who was well-read, Ryou could see that Akuna was plenty wise, and plenty experienced in worldly affairs.

Most of his novels were based in philosophy, and he rarely (if ever) wrote fiction. Most recently he had authored a new book of poetry, which the teen had requested his father purchase for him for his birthday.

He placed his novel upon the coffee table beside him, and resumed his work on a painting he had abandoned. The painting depicted two koi fish; one black, and the other white. They swam in a circle around one another within a pool lighted by the moon.

Ryou smiled. He touched the very tip of his index finger to the black koi fish; a loving gesture.

_**-Orichalchos District, 5:27 pm-**_

Darkness was falling, and Touzokuo was uneasy. Marik had splinted his shoulder and ankle, so moving faster than a hobble was out of the question. Besides that, the Repo-man had said he would be back.

The Zydrate needle, which he had so graciously lost, had been replaced. Stolen. Right from a boutique. In broad daylight. If Touzokuo would ever be remembered by anyone for anything, it would be for his skills in theft.

He leaned against a toppled over dumpster, and waited.

"Hello, Touzokuo." That same, rich voice made its presence known.

The graverobber didn't reply.

A dark chuckle, "I am impressed with your unique powers of perception. Very clever, indeed."

"What do you want with Ryou?" he asked.

The Repo man feigned surprise, "What makes you think I want anything to do with him at all? How are you sure that it isn't you I want something from?"

Touzokuo struggled to his feet. "He didn't do anything wrong." His tone remained even.

"Oh, I know that, Touzokuo. You, on the other hand, have done _plenty_ of wrong." He pulled a battered file from the confines of his coat. "Touzokuo Zuka. Age 20, Immigrant from Egypt. Your juvenile record states you committed first-degree murder at age 12, along with multiple counts of theft. You immigrated here with two unrelated persons: Bastet Halima, and Nailah Metit. Medical records of Bastet Halima show she has a pancreas on a payment plan from GeneCo."

Touzokuo froze at the mention Bastet. "No! Please, you can't take it from her!"

He smirked, and placed the file back into his coat. "I wouldn't dream of it. She hasn't missed a payment…yet. Considering your financial situation, things _do_ happen you know…" Touzokuo's blood boiled at the implication.

"But, this is your golden opportunity. I'm willing to write off her pancreas as bought and paid for. I just need you to do something very small for me. Involving the person you have already assumed."

He took a deep breath.

He lowered his head.

He cleared his throat.

"Sure."

_**A/N:**_ I apologize for the wait, and I apologize even further for the little amount of payoff. This was the most awkward chapter I had to write, because all it is is a bridge to the exhibition. Which, need I remind you, is the turning point of the story. Well, now that everything is set up, you can look forward to 'The Genetic Exhibition!'

As a side note, the small excerpt at the beginning of Ryou's part is from a Philosophy book that I'm working on. I can't wait until next chapter…Atem comes in! Oh, he is such a delight! I promise, you'll have fun reading his part.


	6. We Started This Artsy Shit! Part 1

Chapter 6: We Started This Artsy Shit! (Part 1)

_**-GeneCo Tower, 11:22 am-**_

Bakura slapped the crude memo on the desk before his employer. "Who is responsible for_ this_?" he seethed through clenched teeth.

Cool amber eyes flickered to the fuming Necro Merchant. He delicately sipped at his glass of merlot, "Who else do you think?"

Of course, he had neither the position nor the courage to display his boundless anger at such a memo that he had received, along with every other GeneCo employee, "This is outside of Repo contract. You cannot issue a request like this."

The aging business man rose, reached for his cane and tottered over to where Bakura stood, "Need I remind you, that the Repo contract is unique among others. It is liable to any and all amendments I wish to make."

Bakura turned from his employer, "This was originally my assignment. I alone should have the right to attend to this matter if it is indeed so very important to you."

Pegasus scoffed, "Why? Your failure before was a disgrace. A pity too, since you've never had a blemish on your record before." He lowered himself back into his chair, "Never mind it. I'll expect you at the Exhibition tonight, don't forget. I'm hoping that your department will be able to give the foreign branches visiting a little…demonstration of how things are properly executed here in the central branch. Consider it your chance at redemption."

Seeing there was no more he could do to rectify the situation, he turned to leave.

"Remember, I _expect_ you there," he smiled knowingly, "My son Malik, he asked me to send along his personal invitation."

Bakura shuddered.

_**-King's Game Corner, 3:00 pm-**_

Yugi Mouto, formally dubbed 'King of Games' leaned back confidently in his chair before the poker table.

Draw.

Flip.

Smirk.

His opponent sighed in resignation, "I fold."

"Thanks for the game," Yugi responded, cleverly masking his inner gloating. He had a perfect right to do so. Yugi had never been universally loved before receiving his title, even if had deserved nothing but affection. Since winning that fateful tournament (hosted my Pegasus himself) Yugi found himself moving among the upper circles of society. He eventually converted his late grandfather's game shop into a game parlor, where he competed against anyone looking for a sound thrashing in a game of their choice.

He gathered his winnings and set them aside. He didn't even look up when he heard the chair across the table gain a new occupant.

"What game?" he asked, counting his chips.

A familiar chuckle, "Aw, is that any way to greet your pal?"

Yugi's head shot up, "Jou!" He leapt from his chair and tackled his friend in a frenzied hug. The blonde laughed, and embraced the smaller of the two with equal vigor.

"The usual game I presume, Mr. Katsuya?" he asked, putting on a professional air, walking back around to his chair.

"But of course, Mr. Mouto," Jou responded, flashing his deck of Duel Monster cards.

They both shuffled, and the game began.

Jou moved first.

Baby Dragon, defense mode.

"So, the Exhibition is tonight," Jou remarked casually.

Yugi inwardly flinched. "Yea, it is. Are you going?"

Draw. Celtic Guardian, attack mode. Attack on Baby Dragon.

"Well of course I'm going. Haven't you heard who's going to be there?"

A nervous shudder. "That Malik Sweet guy is performing, right?"

Yugi could practically taste the disgust radiating from Jou at such a notion.

Flip up face-down. Trap Hole.

"Don't tell me you haven't been keeping up with the tabloids. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised you weren't there when his flight docked…I'm sure he would've been happy to crash with you…"

Draw. Flame Swordsman, attack mode.

"Will he even _want_ to see me? Things change…he's changed, Jou. You remember last time."

Draw. Kuriboh, attack mode. Two cards face down.

"So he's a little more world-wary, so what? He's still your buddy. Things like that don't change, Yug."

Attack on Kuriboh.

Flip trap card, Sakuretsu Armor.

"I hope so Jou. In this city, you never know."

_**-Yugi Mouto-**_

I didn't always live here. I grew up in a small, rural town in Northern Japan. It was the sort of town where nothing ever happened, but the families were friendly and happiness came easy. It was situated right at the edge of the mountains.

My father owned a grocery store. I was always very proud of this, and snuck extra helpings of pickled fish when no one was watching. After school I would help stock and list items in the store.

That was the first time I saw him.

He was wearing the strangest outfit I had ever seen, made of strips of orange and yellow fabric. His hair was similar to mine; misbehaving strands of blonde that stuck up in tiny cowlicks everywhere.

He was filling a basket with fruits and vegetables. I asked him if he needed any help.

He turned up his nose and glared at me with irritated violet eyes, "I'll do it myself." He stuffed the basket, squishing the poor oranges in his hurry.

I made the mistake of complimenting what I thought to be his dress.

He huffed, "It is not a _dress_ you silly boy. These are the sacred garments of my _order_. After I become a fully sanctioned monk, I'm going to be _enlightened_." He leaned forward towards me in a condescending manner, "Are _you_ going to be enlightened?"

I answered no, but that it sounded cool.

As a seven year old, the only logical solution to jump to was that he was a magician that was blessed with all the secrets of the world. He laughed at my simplicity, but explained to me his order (the clan of monks living in seclusion between the mountains) that had raised him, and how he hoped to know the purpose of his life.

In my mind, the purpose of life was to brush your teeth, get A's and buy trading cards. I was seven. That's what we all thought.

Atem was his name. If he had a last one, I don't think he really cared what it was. He was Atem, and that was enough for anyone, because once you met him, you couldn't _let_ yourself forget him. The second day he came, he asked me If I had read 'Lost Horizon'. He explained that he felt his life was a lot like the book, and said he lived in a place very close to a Shangri-La. I hadn't a clue what he was talking about, but I listened just for the sake of hearing him talk.

He always did have a way of speaking that didn't demand your attention, but was so naturally authoritative that you wanted to listen anyway.

Such was the nature of our friendship; he came down from his magical mountain home three times a week to tell me stories, and we would play games. Sometimes the games were silly and childish (I admit I liked them the most. I think the only reason we played them was because Atem knew they amused me), other times they were more complex and strategic.

These were always very difficult for me. I could never, ever win. Atem refused to purposefully let me win; in his mind that was worse than cheating. Many of the games were ones he had invented. Some of them were mild…others were to an extent very dark.

Our favorite game was 'Chicken'. We would both go into the mountains at night without flashlights or conversation. It was about who would get scared first and go back. Of course, it was always me.

This frustrated me to no end. Why was it he bothered coming to play with me if I never even presented a challenge? This was the base of our first fight. Well…fight from my perspective. Atem was more bemused than angered.

"Silly Aibou," he teased, addressing me by my nickname, "You really think there's nothing about you that entertains me?"

I wasn't in any mood for his riddles, and demanded he go and play a game with himself, because then he might actually have a competition.

I guess, to appease me, he agreed to teach me to think like he did, then I might win against him. The very next day he entered the store with a book nearly the size that he was (we were both very small for our age, but Atem always appeared more imposing by the way he stood) under his arm.

Picture a small seven –year- old lugging a copy of 'The Origin of Species'. Did you laugh? I sure as hell did.

I would have had no reason to think I couldn't be as smart as he was. I was at the top of my class, after all. I wanted to prove that I was just as good…that our friendship wasn't unbalanced.

Day after day: History, Psychology, Biology, Algebra. Each book he brought, they just got thicker and thicker until my eyes got sore from reading. My fingers had paper cuts from turning page after page.

He tried to share his love of literature with me: _Wuthering Heights, To Kill a Mockingbird, Great Expectations_…countless volumes all containing the passions and trials I wanted above anything else to understand. I wanted them to mean to me what they meant to him…but they didn't.

It was a foolish ambition of a silly little boy who wanted to be a prodigy. You can't be like Atem. You can only be his friend. And that is what I had resolved was enough.

Unfortunately, luck had never been on my side.

My dear father died from a stroke one month after my 10th birthday. My mother drowned in the river, after she filled her pockets with rocks. She had been selfish.

I was being sent to America to live with my Grandfather. Atem came down from the mountain on Tuesday. I was due to leave Saturday. When I broke the news to him that we only had a week together, his handsome face contorted into the most heartbroken expression I had ever seen. He begged me not to go. He told me he would hide me away in the temple where no one would ever find me, and I could become a monk like him, and we could both learn the secrets of existence together.

Both of us knew that this couldn't be so. We knew we could only pretend in our game world for so long. I more than anything wanted to keep playing, to keep pretending, to be friends in this small town forever. How happy things would be if our lives could be as they were now!

But stronger than my desire for happiness, was my desire for passion. Atem had found his passion in the form of knowledge; his love of literature, philosophy and the mystery of life…it was stifling when you heard him speak of it.

I wanted something that I could love at that magnitude, and I couldn't find it there.

I think he understood perfectly why I chose to leave, but for the first time in his life, allowed his emotions to overpower his logic. He didn't come down from the mountain the day my plane left. He never said goodbye to me.

I didn't hear from him for over eight years. I hadn't heard _from _him, but I had certainly heard _of_ him. Nearly six or seven years after our falling out, his first book had already reached top sales in America. It was a first-person narrative of a remarkable adventure he'd had in Siberia, climbing mountains. "The Snows Unrelenting" it was called. I was not the least bit astounded upon learning he had done so, knowing all too well how easily he mastered all sorts of things.

In the mean time, I had found my passion: games. Grandpa had merely boosted along a love I had had all along. There had been a Poker tournament hosted by Pegasus Crawford, who surprisingly had a bit of a gambling streak.

Keep in mind I had worked for years to master the skills Atem had taught me to employ in games of strategy and chance. I was nowhere near perfecting them, but I was close enough that I could demolish any opponent I faced. Even Seto Kaiba couldn't defeat me!

I won that tournament.

Pegasus awarded me my title 'King of Games', and offered me additional wealth, status and a bladder surgery for my Grandpa who had been ailing with his, with the agreement that I would promote his company. Who was I to say no?

To me, however, the most eventful part of that evening was when I discovered Atem's presence.

He had flown in to promote the newest book he had published, 'Beauty makes a Beast', his opinion on the dangers of vanity. Unbeknownst to Jou (who I had befriended shortly after settling in) and Grandpa, I read every one of his books.

Atem had not competed, but had stayed to watch me. I was proud; proud to have been able to show him that I had found my passion! I had found my great love! I was hoping I could congratulate him on his success as well.

Atem was a very different person. The man who then stood before me was not the brilliant and good-natured boy I had spent countless afternoons with. This man was stern and harsh, tall and imposing, thin and rigid. His hair was not the mop of blonde, as mine still was, but a dramatic jolt of hair standing on end with deep black and red dye streaked strands. His bangs remained golden. The bright colored robes of the monks had been traded for leather pants, muscle shirts, studded belts and metal jewelry.

We talked a little, but there was very little to say. He would not tell me what possessed him to leave the temple, where he had traveled or even why he had so violently altered his appearance. His normal boisterous and confident smirk had vanished. He expressed no emotion at all. The only indication he gave for any remembrance of our friendship was his affection nickname for me, "Aibou".

He left the next day without another word to me.

I can only imagine that whatever he had found in Nepal was something awful.

_**-Kul Elna Graveyard, 8:28 pm-**_

Nathan had gone to bed exceptionally early, giving his son the perfect opportunity to steal a few hours of freedom. Touzokuo had promised, after all, that he would return to see him. Ryou had completed his painting of the koi fish, and was hoping to present it to the elder as a kind gesture of friendship. Truth be told, the painting's meaning had been relatively simple: balance of good and evil within the cycle of life. He didn't see Touzokuo as a man of philosophy, but hoped he would appreciate the meaning all the same.

His spirits soared when the metal door rattled on its hinges. The red-robed graverobber slipped inside.

A wide, enticing smile was pulled taut across his lips as he addressed his smaller friend, "Hello, Ryou."

Ryou rushed to embrace the taller, careful of the bandaged shoulder and ankle. "Are you alright, Touzokuo? What happened?" he slipped his hand under the fabric of the robe to gently rub the padding.

"Just took a little tumble down the stairs, no worries." He noticed the large canvas lain atop the tombstone. "What's that you've got?"

Giddily, he snatched it up and displayed his painting, "I made it for you! Do you like it?"

He did. He liked it very much. Artwork had never been something of abundance where he had grown up, that being in the filthy slums of Cairo where the wall paint was spotted blood and the air freshener was excrement. The colors were muted; soft water colors intermingled so as to be easy to the eye. The figures were smeared with few defined lines, appearing natural and abstract as opposed to direct and concrete; just a woven mass of color to distinguish it from the cerulean blue of the backdrop.

No knowledge of the intended ambiguity was necessary to absorb the surreal utopia feeling expressed in each minute brushstroke. 'Damn, kid. Way to lay on the guilt.' The thief thought sullenly.

"This is real pretty, babe!" he enthused, disguising the sorrow it gave him.

Ryou blushed cutely, "You think so? Oh, thank you! There's not much else to do but paint silly pictures when you're stuck in a room all day." He gushed, flattered.

While silently berating himself for the inevitable evil he would have to do to the boy, he formulated the plan with which to do it. Ryou had supplied him with the prefect tool to deceive, crafted by his own unsuspecting hand. Poor thing.

"You are too modest! In fact, this is SO beautiful, we could enter it in the Art Contest at the 'Genetic Exhibition' tonight! Want to?"

Ryou's smile died, and the color drained from his face, "Go outside, again? Well, that sounds fun…but I…I mean, are you sure it's safe? There's going to be so many people…I'm not sure…"

Gripping the concept like a life line, he coaxed further, "You worry too much. Just pack a couple med shots, and you'll be fine! Don't you want to spend time together, Ryou?"

He debated in his head. This was very dangerous. Sanitarium Square was intimidating enough empty, but completely packed? He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. Formula for disaster, this was. But…Touzokuo might think little of him if he couldn't show some semblance of a spine with such a meager request. Touzokuo wouldn't leave him there; he'd already proven that much. Touzokuo was his friend.

"Ok. Let's go together, then."

**AN:** I'm sorry. I really am sorry. I've got the next chapter written already, it just needs to be typed, and it'll be ready to go.

This is the turning point of the story, so what I'm going to do is break the Exhibition into three parts. I've got it all figured out, but honestly, I'm really having a hard time figuring out how things are going to happen after that. I don't want to end the story too soon without giving enough time to the characters and ambiance. I'm doing my best to make the story work so that it satisfies everyone.

At any rate, if it pleases, while I figure it out I'm going to work a little bit on 'The Hatter Went Mad'. Rest assured this story will not be neglected. This is like, my BABY. Relax.

Soooo…next chapter will be up in an estimate of a week and a half.

Review, my lovelies! Review!


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